Their Roof the Cloudy Sky
by semicolonsonfire
Summary: As Dale rebuilds, so does the Lady Sigrid. After a year-long absence, she returns to a city she barely recognizes, a sister who will barely look at her, and a tenuous harmony with Erebor that can barely be maintained. Fili, crown prince of Erebor is sent to Dale by his uncle to turn the shaky peace that envelops the region into continued prosperity for both dwarves and men.
1. Chapter 1

Although it might've been faster, Sigrid refused to take a boat. A number of years had passed since the dragon's attack on Esgaroth, but being on water still made her feel uneasy. It made her feel a traitor, in a way; she had spent her first sixteen years living and working on the water without a fear. It had lulled her to sleep on sleepless nights, cooled her down in the hot summer heat. In the water she saw home and life; now, though, she could only see fire and death.

The journey wasn't laborious, taking only a few hours at most, and with Tauriel by her side Sigrid had little to worry about. The forest, though, still made her uneasy. Water. Wide open spaces. Closed in spaces. Darkness. The nightmares came less frequently than they had before, but certain things – like this forest – would often bring them back.

One year ago, nearly to the day, Sigrid left the Kingdom of Dale for the Woodland Realm. It had taken some months to convince her father of the move; she hadn't _wanted_ to leave, but after Tauriel had suggested it Sigrid could think of little else.

* * *

"_But why do you want to leave me?" Tilda asked as she cuddled into her sister's warm side. Spring was nearly upon Dale, but the chill of winter lingered in the air. There was plenty of space in their quarters – their father was the king, after all – but after all the things that had come to pass, the sisters preferred to stay together._

_Sigrid sighed in frustration. She had spent the entire day explaining the situation to her younger sister. "I know you're upset, Tilda, but I'm not leaving _you._"_

_Although Sigrid couldn't see, Tilda rolled her eyes. "Are you leaving?"_

"_Well," Sigrid responded. "Yes."_

"_Are you leaving _with me_?"_

_Sigrid hesitated, knowing where Tilda was going with her line of inquiry. "…No, Tilda. I'm not. I'm not leaving –"_

"–_Because of me, I know. Da wants you to… 'build diplomatic relations' or something. I know."_

_Sigrid couldn't help but giggle at her sister's imitation of their father. It was true; at least part of the reason Bard had agreed to send his oldest daughter to the Woodland Realm was to help enhance the relationship between the people of Dale and the elves such a short distance away. Dealings after the Battle of Five Armies could have been considered cool, at best, and while the Elven King had sent aid to Dale in form of helping hands, supplies, and food, communication between the two races was limited. Thranduil Oropherion was as aloof and unreachable as always._

_There was another reason, though, that Sigrid was loath to tell her sister. The nightmares had been getting worse. The fear that gripped her heart every time she heard the clashing of swords or the intermittent sounds that would make their way from Erebor was becoming unbearable. She kept that fear inside, buried deep beneath the resilient exterior she presented to the world around. She was the Princess of Dale: there was no place for fear or weakness._

"_I'll be back, Tilda. And you can come visit me," Sigrid whispered into her sister's hair. Tilda curled even closer to her sister in response. "You can see the elves,"_

"_Mmmhmm," Tilda muttered._

"_And by the time you visit, I'll know my way around the Woodland Realm and can show you all of the discoveries I've made."_

"_Mmmhmm."_

"_And Tauriel will be there," Sigrid continued._

_Tilda smiled against her sister's neck. "I like Tauriel."_

_Moments passed and silence once again engulfed the room. Sigrid was drifting off to sleep when Tilda spoke again. "What will I do without you?"_

"_You'll do what you normally do, silly. Take your lessons, help Da, keep yourself out of trouble."_

"_But," Tilda hesitated. "You've never left me alone before."_

_Sigrid rolled away from her sister and onto her back. This was the part of leaving that Sigrid had dreaded. Tilda was right; she hadn't been without Sigrid before, at least for not any longer than a few hours. And then Sigrid, she hadn't been without her younger sister since Tilda was brought into the world, kicking and screaming. "You've never left me alone either."_

_Then Tilda said something that had broken her heart, nearly convincing her to never leave her home in Dale. "But I've never wanted to."_

* * *

"Tauriel," Sigrid called to the elf-maiden riding slightly ahead. "Would you mind if we stopped here a moment?"

In response Tauriel slowed her horse to a stop which allowed Sigrid to catch up. "Are you okay?" Tauriel asked, searching her friend's face with concern. "You look like you're about to be sick."

Sigrid nodded in response, her gaze fixed on the stone city off in the distance. This was the first she'd seen of Dale in an entire year. Her family – her father, her sister, her brother – were somewhere in the maze of streets that made up the city. Given the time of day, Sigrid expected that they would soon be sitting down to dinner. Bain will have just washed up after finishing his training for the day, while her father, she suspected, would be rushing from an important meeting with some important delegates or diplomats or councilmembers. A year ago, Tilda's schedule had changed day-by-day to suit her moods, so Sigrid couldn't even begin to guess where her sister will have been.

They'd exchanged letters, of course, and Sigrid kept a journal of her thoughts so Tilda could learn all about the time she'd spent with the elves, but Sigrid had seen none of her family throughout her time in the Woodland Realm. They had wanted to visit, of course, but a fire had broken out in Dale, destroying the newly-built market. Soon after, an illness spread throughout the city, confining its residents indoors. While it wasn't a deadly virus, it had been enough to spread panic and force her family to delay any trips – however short – out of Dale.

In every letter Tilda had begged and begged to visit the Woodland Realm, but in every response Sigrid was forced to remind her sister that she wasn't allowed to travel alone. Every suggestion Tilda put forward was – in her eyes – shot down by excuses. No, Tauriel couldn't come pick her up because she was unable to take leave from her post as captain of the Elven Guard. No, Sigrid was not able to convince their father to ignore his duties so they could come visit. No, they were not going to hire a guard to travel with Tilda to Mirkwood.

They had all seemed like legitimate responses, but as time went on Sigrid questioned whether she was in fact doing enough for her younger sister. Sigrid had spent so much of her life taking care of others that prior to her year away, she was not in the habit of taking care of herself. It wasn't selfishness, she told herself. It was healing. She wasn't sure Tilda would see it as such, though.

"Are you ready?" Tauriel asked quietly, unsure of what was keeping Sigrid from moving forward.

Sigrid tore her eyes away from Dale and looked toward her friend. "No," she replied, with a small half smile while sitting straight in the saddle, "but I'm not sure if I ever will be."

With one last glance at the forest behind her and the lake to her side, Sigrid urged her horse forward. Fear had driven her decisions for far too long, and she was determined to not let it rule her any longer, even if that meant facing a sister who no longer loved her as she did.


	2. Chapter 2

Sigrid could hear the muffled voice of her father from behind the large dining room doors. In the year since she had been gone, the household had gone through very few changes. The window coverings were sparse, the furniture even sparser; only things that were considered necessary - of which there were very few (in the sitting room in which she was standing, for example, there were a few chairs of mismatched shapes and sizes, along with a small side table that could only a cup or two and a small vase of colourful wildflowers that someone must have recently picked) - furnished the rooms.

Her home was in stark contrast to the streets of Dale. Sigrid couldn't help but stare in surprise at the people crowding the shops that lined the streets as she'd walked through the market. Although the snow had just melted only days earlier, lovers walked hand in hand down shadowed pathways, while children chased after one another, the sounds of their laughter filing the evening air. A tired-looking mother holding on tightly to her wiggling, impatient child was winding through the maze of bodies, while a shopkeeper to Sigrid's left turned her sign from "open" to "closed" while shooing a family of five out of her store. The vibrancy that she saw now had not existed before she left; there was little evidence that a mere three years earlier, the city had seen a fierce battle following a two hundred year period of abandonment.

Sigrid and Tauriel had both decided days earlier that it would be best for Tauriel to return to Mirkwood immediately following the journey to Dale; Sigrid wasn't certain of the reception that she was likely to receive by her family, and Tauriel was required to return to her post as Captain of the Guard as quickly as possible. They parted just outside of the city, when the sun was beginning to set; purples, pinks, and oranges had just begun painting themselves across the cloudless sky.

"Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow morning," Tauriel stated as she reached out to try to flatten Sigrid's windswept hair. "And don't forget to write as soon as you're able."

"Of course," Sigrid said half-heartedly, avoiding her friend's eyes. Goodbyes were always difficult. "Have a safe ride back." She turned to the horse she had ridden from Mirkwood and patted his mane. Having grown up on a lake, Sigrid had little experience with horses and was still surprised at the coarseness of their fur; she always expected them to be so much softer than they were.

"Of course", Tauriel echoed. She gathered Sigrid into her arms the best she could while still holding onto the white mare standing beside her, pressing her cheek into Sigrid's hair. Prior to letting go Tauriel whispered something that Sigrid wasn't quite able to hear, but before Sigrid could ask for clarification Tauriel was out of reach and on her mare. The moment had passed.

Sigrid reached up and handed Tauriel the reins of the horse she'd ridden from Mirkwood, eyes searching for signs of encouragement. "You'll be fine".

Sigrid laughed sarcastically. "I'm glad one of us thinks so."

One last smile of support, and Tauriel and the two horses were gone, leaving Sigrid standing alone at the gates to Dale. She looked beyond the gates to see the familiar cobblestone streets she last saw a year earlier, and, without hesitation (for if she hesitated, Sigrid feared that she turn around and run right back to the Woodland Realm), passed through to join the evening crowd on the other side.

Sigrid would periodically draw her scarf - the one the she had worn on the day of their escape from the dragon - more tightly around her shoulders. It wasn't so much to keep out the chill of the early spring, but to keep in the courage that she feared would leave her if she gave it the opportunity.

While the walk wasn't long, it seemed like in no time at all Sigrid arrived at the newly-forged iron gates that separated the king from his daughter. Although she knew - logically - that her father was king and that he needed protection, she hadn't expected to see the big, black bars that stood so forebodingly in her way. Standing in front of the gates, arms crossed with her jaw clenched in frustration, Sigrid scanned them and the surrounding walls for a way in; she had no key and there were no guards, leaving her stuck on the outside of her own home

"Oi - you girl! Standin' in front o' the kings gates like that. Scamper off, will you?" A booming voice called from behind her.

Sigrid turned quickly, surprised, and found herself nearly face to face – or, more accurately, face to chest – with a bear of a man who looked ready to carry her away from the gates if necessary.

She stuttered, attempting to explain that she was, in fact, the Princess and wanted to get into her house, but before even one word left her mouth, the man took another step toward her and lowered his voice. "You need to be a' headin' off now, girl."

Arms still crossed, Sigrid looked carefully at the man in front of her. Bearded and tall, it was nearly like someone had taken a dwarf and stretched it out until it was six feet tall. He was dressed in a blue tunic, a sword on one hip and keys on the other. His eyes bore threateningly into hers.

"Might you be a guard?" Sigrid asked politely while uncrossing her arms and putting on the noblest airs she could muster.

"Nnn," he muttered noncommittally. At his first glance, she'd simply been another commoner, loitering around the King's gates waiting to catch sight of Bard or his children; her hair was knotted and wild, her clothes obviously those of a traveller – with no proper dress she looked like a wandering she-elf, all leather and green and wind-burnt. But then, to his surprise, her demeanor had changed. She was no longer a child of the forest, but a lady of Dale that he recognized from a portrait in the King's study. "Lady Sigrid?"

She smiled and curtsied. "Indeed. I'd like to see my father, if you please."

"O' course," the guard said, bowing low. He hoped the bow covered the blush that spread across his face at not recognizing the princess. He'd seen her in person only once, the day she left for Mirkwood the previous year, but he'd seen her portrait nearly every day since then. "Stig, at your service, m'lady."

"These gates weren't here when I left. When were they installed?" Sigrid asked, not entirely concerned with the installation but wishing to make conversation while Stig opened them.

"Mmm, right after you left, m'lady. Some little bastards snuck into the 'ouse on a dare. Caught 'em red handed goin' down to the kitchen. Captain o' the guard decided to install 'em the next day," Stig explained, letting Sigrid into the grounds. Before closing the heavy gates behind her, he held out his large, callused hand for her to take. "Yer da will be right pleased that you're back, m'lady."

She took his hand in hers and shook it. "Thank you for your help, master Stig. I hope to see you soon."

With a nod of his giant, hairy head, Stig locked the gates and walked toward the market, soon out of sight in the dusk that surrounded them.

Sigrid seemed to float from the yard to the door to the sitting room to the dining room door. Somehow she had moved from there to here, but if interrogated, she would never have been able to tell you _how_. With the sun nearly set, the darkness of the sitting room began to engulf her, making the light emanating from underneath the door seem inviting. Sigrid moved her hand to the doorknob, not knowing whether or not she was prepared for what lay on the other side. Tilda laughed as cutlery scraped at the plates.

Taking a deep breath, Sigrid pushed the door open and stepped into the light of the dining room. The talking stopped. Cutlery fell. Sigrid looked up at her family, a shy smile on her face. Her father, brother, and sister looked at her, mouths agape, absolutely silent.

"Sigrid!" Bane cheered in surprise.

Before she could even register the mood of the room, Bard stood in front of her. Without hesitation he drew Sigrid tightly into his arms.

"Da!"

A few moments passed and Bard stepped back, a toothy grin plastered on his face. "Why didn't you tell us you were coming home?"

Sigrid's smile faltered as she replied. "I… I wanted it to be a surprise." While it wasn't entirely a lie, although the more truthful response would've been something to the effect of "I didn't know if I would actually come back and I didn't want to make a promise I might break".

"Well come sit down! I'll go get you a plate from the kitchen." Bard turned swiftly and jogged toward a door on the other end of the room. He left, leaving the room heavy with silence. Sigrid avoided looking at her siblings as she took her seat across from Tilda.

"How are you doing, Sigrid?" Bain asked. She looked to her left, where her brother sat looking genuinely curious. Well, that meant that two out of three members of her family weren't upset with her. She still didn't dare look at Tilda.

"I'm doing well, thanks," Sigrid replied, playing nervously with the hem of her tunic. "So much has changed in Dale! The walk here from the gates was so different –"

"Of course it was," Tilda interrupted, venom dripping from her voice. "You were gone for a year. Did you expect everything to be the same upon your return?"

Sigrid looked down, ashamed. Her eyes darted to Bain on her left, her father's empty chair to her right, a random painting of a pot of sunflowers behind Tilda. Finally, her hazel eyes met those of her sister. "No, of course not, I –"

Tilda pushed her plate away. "I'm done my dinner. Bain, tell Da I've gone to bed." Shestood up aggressively from the table, knocking over her chair while doing so. The hatred in Tilda's eyes was difficult to ignore. "Tell him I have a headache and I'm not to be bothered."

Sigrid followed her sister's movement as she stomped around the table to the door. Tilda looked back once in disgust but quickly turned her head as she opened the door. It slammed as she left the room.

Sigrid felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She'd expected Tilda to be upset, but it hurt so much more than she'd imagined. Bain tried to catch her eye and offer a supportive smile, but Sigrid's eyes were locked on the chair where he sister had, twenty seconds earlier, resided.

Bard re-entered the room, plate and glass of water in hand, to only two of his children, an empty chair lying on the grown, and an awkward, stony silence. He stood behind his eldest daughter and placed the glass and plate full of food in front of her. Before returning to his own seat, he squeezed her shoulders in support.

Clearing her throat of the lump that had settled there, Sigrid broke the silence. "Da, Tilda said that she was off to her room for the night."

"Yeah," Bain added, "she has a headache."

Bard knew of Tilda's anger toward her sister and was, unfortunately, not surprised at her reaction. He nodded.

The room was silent once again, save for the sounds of eating. Sigrid picked up her fork and took a mouthful of the food on her plate; she nearly died. The food in the Woodland Realm had never been bad, but it was never what she wanted. It always left something to be desired. _This_ is what she'd wanted. Bread. Fish. Carrots. Eaten around a table with her family. Her _family_.

"So Sigrid," Bain asked after deciding the silence had gone on long enough. "How was living with the elves? Was it as awful as I think it would be?"

Having just taken a drink of water, Sigrid snorted, nearly choking before being able to swallow. The look on her face must've been funny, because – after taking one look at his sister – Bain's laughter echoed throughout the room. Sigrid joined in, not quite knowing what she was laughing at, simply basking in the presence of the family she'd missed so much.

The laughter reverberated out of the dining room and down the halls, reaching Tilda's room a mere few milliseconds later. She sat on the bench beside her window and stared at the mountain in the distance. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sound of the laughter, and she hastily tried to brush them away with the back of her hands.

Her sister was back, but all she wanted to do now was leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Weeks passed as Sigrid once again became accustomed to her place as the Princess of Dale. The sun set later in the sky, flowers began to bloom, and winter became but a distant memory. The monotony of her daily life, however, was beginning to wear on her. While in the Woodland Realm, Sigrid could mostly do what she pleased. The surrounding forests were off-limits, of course, due to the evil that frequently lurked in Mirkwood, but within the gates themselves Sigrid was comparatively free. She had few duties to attend to, and what few she did have were easy and enjoyable. "Tonight you'll be having dinner with the King, Lady Sigrid," and "please be sure to attend this festival. Wear your best!" Easy and enjoyable.

When not spending time with Tauriel, for Tauriel had her own duties to deal with, Sigrid would spend time reading. Books had never done well on the Lake and were a precious commodity. They could fall into the water, they would must, they would mold. Then, residing in a kingdom with books upon books for her to devour, Sigrid could barely resist.

Back in Dale, however, Sigrid very quickly had to resume being a princess. She could no longer curl up in a chair and be taken to different places and times through ink on a page whenever she pleased. She had an image to uphold, and she was determined to uphold it without error or difficulty.

Beyond the words she'd said at dinner the first night, Tilda had said not a peep to Sigrid, nor had she even acknowledged her existence. If Sigrid entered a room where Tilda was, Tilda would immediately turn to leave. The exception, however, was dinner; under king's orders, the family would eat together every night no matter how awkward it was for everyone involved. Bard and Bain learned very quickly – the second evening, in fact – that it would be near impossible to get Tilda to even glance toward her sister. It took Sigrid a bit longer, for she held out hope that time would lessen Tilda's anger, but after a week of trying to engage she abandoned that hope.

* * *

Market day was a day that Sigrid looked forward to every week. It was an excuse to get out of the house and interact with the people of Dale in a more authentic way; although she frequently went for walks through the city, people – even those she had known in Lake-town – tended to avoid her. Sigrid was a lady now, her place was no longer amongst the commoners – or so they would think as she walked past. That's not to say the citizens of Dale didn't like the Lady Sigrid – they thought her to be fair and beautiful and kind, but those people she'd had tea with so often suddenly felt as though they were beneath her. It was nothing she had done and there was little she could do to rectify the situation; it was simply the unfortunate reality of her new station in life, and it was one Sigrid found incredibly lonely.

Market day, though. Like everyone else, Sigrid needed things. Meat, vegetables, fruit, cloth, a new bow for Bain, a small trinket for Tilda. Shopping made her feel almost normal; crowds parted as she walked past and Stig tracked her every move, but at least she was free to talk to who she pleased. It was forced interaction, yes, but it was interaction that she so desperately craved.

Each week Sigrid volunteered to go the market. She collected lists from the household staff and her family and made her way through the rebuilt streets with a smile on her face. She made sure to wear her most plain dress (though it was not as though she had a closet full of fancy dresses) and walk with no pretention, channelling as much old Lake-town Sigrid as she was able to. It remained the highlight of her return to Dale.

* * *

"Did you order my bow?" Bain asked as Sigrid walked through the study to reach her father's private offices. Bain was sitting with his tutor, a new necessity as crown prince. Various maps were strewn across the desk in front of him for the day's lessons, but Bain seemed to have little interest in them. Leaning back on his chair with his arms crossed, his body language just screamed 'I don't want to be here'. Holgeir, the tutor, looked nearly ready to strangle his student. Patience, Sigrid had learnt over the previous weeks, was not in his blood.

"Of course I did. I gave him the measurements just like you asked," Sigrid replied.

Bain grinned in response, but before he could reply Sigrid cut him off. "You should get back to work. Is Da in his office?" Holgeir looked at her, face full of appreciation for her attempt to get her brother back on track with his studies.

"Should be," Bain replied, his grin fading to a look of annoyance. It was evident that he didn't feel the need to return to his studies, but he leaned his chair forward and stared at the map directly in front of him, likely hoping that he could just learn his lessons by osmosis.

As Sigrid walked past her brother towards her father's office, she give Bain a supportive smile which he did not see since he was staring, glassy-eyed, down at the desk.

"Da?" Sigrid inquired as she pushed on the slightly open door. Bard was seated at his desk in the centre of the room looking intently at what appeared to be a letter he held in his hands. Upon hearing his daughter's entrance, he looked up and smiled, inviting her into the room.

"Market day was good?" he asked, setting down the paper so he could talk to Sigrid properly. She closed the door behind her.

Each week the conversation began the same way. Sigrid would come into her father's office, he would ask about the market, she would respond with a noncommittal "it was fine"; the purpose of these meetings was never to talk about the market – those ordinary topics of conversation were left for dinner. They would then quickly move on to more important business, like that of ruling Dale. Although she would never rule Dale herself, Bard appreciated Sigrid's insight into political matters and would often wait to discuss things with Sigrid before making decisions. It's not that he was unable to make those decisions, for Bard was a perfectly capable and just king, it was simply that he felt it was important to have the input of someone he trusted implicitly; whom else could he trust more implicitly than his eldest daughter?

Sigrid entered the room fully and flopped down into an armchair near the door. "It was fine." Maroon and just perfectly squishy, this armchair was her favourite; if she could have replicated it exactly and put it in every room of the house, she would have done it without question. She curled her feet underneath her, not sitting in the most lady-like position (and not caring, either), ready to discuss politics with her father.

"What's that you're reading, Da?" Sigrid asked, nodding toward the paper Bard had placed on the desk upon her arrival.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and dreading Sigrid's response. "A letter from Erebor."

Sigrid was taken aback. She hadn't heard him talk of Erebor since returning to Dale, and she strongly felt that that was the way the world should continue to be. "Erebor? What do the dwarves want this time? Haven't we already given them enough? Our town, our homes, our _lives_?"

"I know you're not fond of them –"

"Not fond, Da?" Sigrid's voice started to shake. "That's putting it a bit lightly, don't you think?" Sigrid felt her throat begin to close as her body begin to vibrate. Breathing became difficult, and tears welled in her eyes. "We welcomed them into our _home_ Da. The home that – because of them – was _destroyed_." She choked on the last word.

"It's been three years, Sigrid…" Bard trailed off, his brown eyes searching her grey ones for any sign of understanding. He could only see hurt.

"And it can continue to be longer, Da! Forever, for all I care." Sigrid uncurled her legs and sat forward in the chair, her hands ghostly white from gripping the arms so tightly. "I cannot forgive those _dwarves_", she spat the word, as if it was unworthy to even pass her lips. She stood up, unable to sit in the same room with her father any longer. "And I refuse to forget, even if you seem to have done so."

Sigrid turned and walked stiffly out the door, slamming it behind her. She didn't even flinch as Bard tried to call her back.

Bard closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The conversation had barely lasted two minutes before she stormed out of the room. He had known that Sigrid harboured an unspoken dislike of the dwarves – she wouldn't even look towards Erebor – but he hadn't quite understood the depth of her hatred. He so desperately wanted to make her see that it wasn't a matter of forgiveness or forgetting, that instead it was a matter of survival. Erebor and Dale, two realms so close together, needed to be united if not in force and power, then at least in shaky peace.

The King's eyes opened slowly and read the letter once again, word by word. It was short, only a few sentences in response to a previous letter Bard had written. It wasn't even properly addressed.

_We seem to have reached an agreement. I will send my nephews to work out the finer details. Expect their arrival in a week's time. I anticipate that they will not be left wanting throughout their stay._

_\- Thorin_


End file.
